Exposing Escapades
by fyren galan
Summary: A Continuation of sorts of Life's Untold Mysteries. A Story of Sexual Frustration. Multiple Times. Draco/Hermione.
1. A Great Bloody Oaf

Otherwise known as: Draco and Hermione set out to blind people across Hogwarts with their free lurve.

Written for the prompt: Now let them shock Harry. Or Snape. Or Hagrid.

Exposing Escapades

After Ron had seen them and fainted on the train (and thus been Obliviated), Draco and Hermione had decided it would be better to have sex in more private places.

Per say, venues other than public restrooms.

Hermione was scared of being caught again, and Draco was horny. Because of Hermione's great fear of public indecency, Draco had not gotten laid for nine days.

Nine days without Hermione's niceish smell, nine days without her beautiful lips caressing his own, nine fucking days since he had felt something besides his own hand on his prick.

He was a very unsatisfied Head Boy.

But, he was smart (therefore, the said position of Head Boy). So he had a Plan. A Marvellous, Wonderful Plan that better bloody work, or he would effectively damn her wishes, and shag right in front of Snape.

Well, maybe not Snape. Perhaps Flitwick. Draco had always thought the tiny professor was a closet pornofanatic.

And so, as Hermione stepped through the portrait hole that night after a long yet gratifying study session, she was promptly apprehended, blindfolded, and gagged.

As an afterthought, Draco took her wand away. One never knew what nasty nonverbal spells she had learned in that horrid library.

He Levitated her struggling form behind him, and whistled a cheerful tune for the first time in over a week. On his way to his destination, he spotted a gawking First Year. He winked at the lad and merely said, "Character building," as he went on his merry way.

He reached Hogwarts' main doors, and flung them open with a wave of his wand. By this time, Hermione had stopped trying to attack him, and her body sagged in the air, a picture of submission.

He thought to himself, _Oh ho! She'll be submitting to __**something**__ later_, and other various lewd thoughts, as he strolled through the twilight.

He reached his target, unceremoniously dumped his burden, and created a barrier to all wizards and witches attempting to be Peeping Toms. After reflection, he created another shield against centaurs. They were notoriously known as perverts. And he would have no depraved magical beings interrupting his Night of Getting Laid ('twas a romantic title, yeah?).

He bent down to Hermione, tenderly untied her gag, and loosened her blindfold. She sat up shakily, her bushy hair in disarray, as she attempted to find her bearings.

She was dizzy, and messy, and had been scraped along no less than three different walls. It was suffice to say she was furious.

As her sense of balance returned (and her vision), she realized that she had not been kidnapped by a nefarious future Dark Lord. She had been tied up and scraped along walls by her darling bloody prat of a boyfriend.

He would die. Very shortly. But very painfully.

Draco could tell the instant her aura changed from frightened and bewildered to murderous. And he hastened to delay his "imminent death," by saying, "Hermione, love. I'm sorry I had to take you so brutishly, but we never have anytime for ourselves. I just wanted to give you something special. Look around you!"

She did, and gasped. They were in a little meadow, lit by the dying ray of the sun, and the twinkling of fairies coming out in the dusk. There were moonflowers slowly unfolding around them, catching shafts of burnished gold, and turning them into gentle glows of silver. And there was Draco, his eyes soft, as he gazed at her. Really, he was most wondrous thing in the glade.

And so, she forgave him for his trespasses. Hermione scooted closer to his sitting form, a shy unicorn approaching its mate. She nudged him playfully, looked at him from under her lashes, and replied, "Translation: you haven't had a fuck in over a week, and you want one now. I appreciate the romantic effort, but if you're not someone like Harry, it's creepy. Sorry."

He appeared crestfallen for a moment, and then seemed to realize she had just handed him a shag on a silver platter. He took a deep breath, and reached for her cheek with trembling fingers. She shivered, and closed her eyes. And gradually, their lips met, as they pretended like first-time lovers. And it was soft, and it was lovely, and it was entirely too slow.

They kissed a second time, and it was marvellously messy, with teeth crashing, and tongue darting, and gripping of hair. And then it turned into gripping of clothes, which became ripping of clothes, which turned into grasping of molten skin (one can only rip off so many articles of clothing before they disappear).

And Draco worshipped Hermione like a goddess in that small glen. As the moonlight hit her upturned neck, so he prepared to enter her.

And she anticipated, and savoured and…

"What teh ruddy 'ell is this?"

Oh God. Draco dropped his forehead to Hermione's as she attempted to cover herself with scraps of torn cloth. He was so bloody stupid. He had put up a barrier to all witches and wizards, and pervy centaurs. But he had forgotten the big oaf. Half-giant. Absurdly drunk. Currently staring at his milky-white arse.

Two things could happen: Hermione would actually kill him, or he would never get laid again.

He couldn't quite decide which was worse.

A/N: I'm sorry I was gone for a few days. I just didn't quite have any inspiration for a while! But now it's back, and well. Presenting result. Anyhoo, I rather liked the idea of continuing my epilogue for the seventh Harry Potter, so…

Next up, Harry, Snape, or random character? You decide!


	2. Voyeurism is a Nasty Habit, Severus

Have You Shagged in Front of Your Potions Master Today?

Severus was not a happy camper.

He wondered in which of the Seven Hells he had heard that absurd Muggle expression. Severus had never been happy, and he had certainly never done such a dirty thing as Muggle camping.

But nevertheless, it fit his current mood.

He had just been told by Minerva McGonagall that she wore tartan because she knew it was his favorite color.

He curled his lip in disgust. Tartan was not a color, it was an abomination no doubt created by a color blind wanna-be Dark Lord.

Mayhaps Voldemort had invented it, as to torture unenthusiastic new recruits. It sounded like something the bald bastard would've done.

On top of that horrifically untrue statement (his favorite color was, by the way, an attractive shade of ebony), she had then attempted to dry-hump him. In the staff room. In front of Dumbledore and his damned eternally twinkling eyes.

Severus had immediately removed the old hag from his person, and regally paced from the room. He immediately broke into a run once past the door. He hurried to his dungeon, where a lovely bottle (or five) of firewhiskey awaited to melt his brain. Just what he needed.

He pushed open his door, and for the first time in his life, dropped his jaw in shock.

On top of his bloody desk (HIS bloody desk!), his most prized student was engaging in intercourse with his most annoying student. He blinked, to make sure he wasn't under a Vision spell. Nope.

Draco and Hermione Granger were still fucking on his desk. Loudly, sloppily, and having a damned good time, it looked like.

Severus was disturbed, to say the least. He had never had any inclination towards voyeurism, and definitely had never wanted to see Granger's naked writhing body.

He may have dreamed about Draco's body when he was very drunk, but that was a different story.

He was debating in between yelling at them and cursing him, when a distinctly Slytherin idea hit him.

They were fornicating on his property, were they not? And was it not within his right as a property owner to, say, take pictures of his furniture? Or even videos?

He sneered as he muttered an incantation unheard by the busy couple. A video camera appeared in the corner of his room, taping the deed.

Severus swept towards his private rooms, now seeing that Firewhiskey as a reward for his cleverness. He felt rather generous towards the world, yes, even to McGonagall.

Who knew? Maybe in three bottles, she would look good enough for him to shag.

A/N: Written for CoMiCalMe, who wanted a naughty Snape. I know I said I would use a certain line ("Sigh. I never should've brewed that Lust potion."), but I had a better idea. ;)


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